


Better Strangers

by Fire_Sign



Series: This Strange Eventful History [9]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, Discussions of mental illness, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-01 20:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12712833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: I do desire we may be better strangers.―William Shakespeare, As You Like It---------------In June 1927, six friends went on a trip; only five came back. Five years later, Phryne Fisher is asked to investigate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the infamous "Jack is married" fic I have used to torture certain people for the better part of the year. I initially wrote it last November, but had to (1) finish the previous fics in the series, and (2) edit this one. For those who aren't aware, there is a long-standing bet between Quiltingmom and myself--if this fic is determined, by readers, to be angsty, I have to write her a prompt of her choice. If it is, as I have asserted, fluffy case fic, she has to write a fic and buy me a cup of tea at next year's Miss Fisher Con. So, uh, don't let me down, lovelies. ♥

Turning the Hispano onto the long drive that led to Susanna Parr’s chalet, Phryne mused over the situation once more. She’d known Susanna for years, and last month the woman had contacted her about an… unusual situation.

“I need your absolute discretion,” Susanna had said, brown eyes brimming with tears. “If this were to come out… oh, my life would be ruined.”

“Of course,” Phryne had said gently. “I will do my best.”

Susanna had pulled an envelope from her handbag.

“I’ve been receiving these letters,” she said, her voice catching.

“Threats?”

“Read it.”

Phryne had flipped the envelope over, looking for any hint as to the sender—it was postmarked Sydney, which was where Susanna had lived until the previous year, but there was little else to go on. Opening the envelope, she had pulled out a small piece of notepaper, two typed words centred on the page.

> I KNOW

“Know what?” Phryne had asked.

“William Armitage,” Susanna had replied, pulling out more envelopes and handing them over. “They are demanding money or they claim they will expose the truth.”

Phryne had heard the story, though it had happened before she had moved to Melbourne. A party of six had gone away for the weekend, and only five had returned. And now it had led to blackmail.

“What is this truth they are going to reveal?”

“I don’t know. I truly wish I did. They never found him, you know. I had always hoped…” Susanna had sighed, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear. “I suppose I had always hoped he would reappear one day, with some wonderfully thrilling story.”

“Hope can sometimes be the cruelest thing,” Phryne had replied, reminded of her own experience with loss. “I’ll see what I can do.”

That had been six weeks ago; Phryne’s initial inquiries had not exposed much of anything, even when she had taken a week-long holiday in Sydney in the hopes of turning something up. Now she would be spending a long weekend at Susanna’s chalet on the border of Victoria, along with the other guests from the original weekend and a handful of others, ostensibly to celebrate Susanna’s fortieth birthday.

The chalet was nestled in a copse of trees, smoke curling from a chimney; despite its size—it would fit the fifteen guests quite comfortably—it appeared cozy. A servant met Phryne as she arrived, offering to park the motorcar and bring her bags to her bedroom. Susanna herself greeted Phryne as she stepped inside, embracing her warmly and escorting her into a private parlour. Locking the doors, she offered Phryne some tea and gestured for her to sit down. Phryne did so, eyes scanning the small room out of habit—it was typical of a rustic hunting chalet, all dark wood and fabrics and animal heads mounted on the wall. Rather foreboding, but as it wasn’t Susanna’s property it was unlikely to mean anything.

“Have you gotten any more letters?”

Susanna nodded, pulling out an envelope and laying it on the small table. “Yesterday. Same postmark. Identical to the last one.”

“Refresh my memory then,” Phryne said; she had heard the story several times, and confirmed most of it via newspaper articles and police reports, but there was also the chance that Susanna knew more than she realised.

Susanna took a seat across from Phryne, sinking into the dark velvet of the chaise; her usually vivacious friend was drawn, her powder not quite hiding the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“In June 1927, six of us—myself, William Armitage, his sister Irene, Albie Quinton, Rosalie White, Thomas Martens—you know him, I believe—” Phryne nodded, and Susanna continued, “The six of us have been good friends for years. Every winter we would take a trip together, for skiing in theory but there was always a great deal of alcohol involved. Well, the week started as it always did, but the night before we were due to go home William just… disappeared. As far as I know he went to bed with a headache around eight and was never seen again. We waited an extra day, thinking he’d return, but he didn’t. The police searched for weeks, but nothing was ever found.”

“Was it this chalet?”

Susanna looked aghast.

“No! No, I’m not cruel, Phryne. This was much closer to Sydney, where we all lived at the time.”

“And now you’re getting letters threatening to expose the truth. Do you know if anybody else has gotten these letters?”

“Not that they’ve mentioned to me, but… well, I’m hardly telling _them_ , now am I?”

Phryne nodded at the sensibility of such an argument and moved on to her next query.

“And during this trip, were there any disagreements?”

“Of course there were disagreements. Albie and Irene got into a tiff over… Oh, I can’t even remember any more. Whether she took one or two sugars in her tea or some such nonsense. William and Thos got into a shouting match over a card game. Rosalie drank far too much and ended up crying about her broken heart—an utter scoundrel who was seeing three women at the same time. I can’t even remember his name now; heaven knows she has a habit of choosing poorly,” Susanna said, exasperated. “But there was nothing _unusual_ about any of this; we’d known each other for so long we could get worked up over ridiculous things, but we’d get over it just as fast. You know what it’s like with old friends.”

Phryne nodded. “I will need to speak with them all, see if I can prod anything out of them.”

“There’s a party this evening, to welcome all the guests. I’ll introduce you then.”

“That is an excellent plan,” Phryne said, picking up the latest letter. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have a long bath before then—the drive up was exhausting.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll see you at eight?”

“Absolutely,” Phryne said, standing. “And Susanna, I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Susanna fiddled nervously with her tea cup, managing a weak smile.

“I hope so, Phryne. I’ve taken to sleeping with a gun beneath my pillow. This insistence that I am hiding something… it’s frightened me, I’ll be honest. If they are cracked enough to believe that, what else might they do?”

“Nothing, because I’ll solve it before they have a chance.”

———

The party was in full swing when Phryne descended the stairs, smoothing her green silk evening dress with one hand; she sought out Susanna in the crowd, finding her friend playing hostess with aplomb. Phryne quickly crossed the room to embrace her, murmuring in her ear as she did so.

“It will be best if you introduce me to all the guests,” Phryne said. “I know a few of them, but a round of introductions will let me make contact.”

“Of course,” nodded Susanna, releasing Phryne from the hug to take her arm. “Not everyone here this evening was at the chalet that night, but I thought it might raise suspicions to gather that group alone again. Especially as Albie and Irene are no longer… together. We all thought that would end in engagement, but after William… well, it rather drove them apart.”

“Grief can do strange things,” Phryne said.

“Yes, well, that is in the past at least. Albie has brought his new girl along—come, I’ll introduce you.”

Grabbing a flute of champagne, Susanna headed towards a dark-haired man and a blonde woman.

“Albie, darling!” she exclaimed, air-kissing both cheeks. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. This must be Kitty?”

Albie, on close acquaintance, rather resembled a rodent. A good-looking rodent, admittedly—he had that aura of confidence that compensated for a great number of flaws—but a rodent nonetheless.

“Yes. Kitty, this is my old friend Susanna and,” Albie smiled, all charm, and Phryne felt a frisson of attraction, “I’m afraid I don’t know her companion.”

“Miss Phryne Fisher,” Phryne said, extending her hand. Albie’s handshake was warm and firm. “I’ve heard so much about your exploits, I feel as if I know you already.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, not too good,” Phryne purred, laying a hand on his forearm. “A tendency towards roguishness is so attractive in a man.”

Kitty coughed lightly, as if to remind everyone that she was there, and Phryne stepped back. A good flirtation was always fun, but clearly Kitty had no interest in sharing.

“I’m afraid Kitty’s rather tamed me of my wild ways,” Albie laughed, giving the woman in question a kiss on her cheek—Phryne would have bet her hat that he was only tamed when under direct surveillance. “But it’s so nice to meet a friend of Susanna’s. We’ve all missed her terribly since she moved to Melbourne.”

“I can imagine,” Phryne said. “But Sydney’s loss was Melbourne’s gain. She throws marvelous shindigs.”

“She always has,” agreed Albie. “How long have you known her?”

“Oh, we met in England… nine or ten years ago, now? She was visiting family and I was living there at the time, and my cousin Guy introduced us.”

“Guy Stanley?” Albie asked, and Phryne wondered if there was anybody who did not know her wayward cousin.

“Afraid so,” she laughed. “I’m rather less… vibrant than my cousin, I must admit.”

“You know, I seem to recall hearing about Guy’s cousin. Always off on a tear, travelling the world and get into all sorts of interesting scrapes.”

Phryne felt her smile falter, just for a second. She hadn’t been that woman in years; she had put down roots, surrounded herself with a family of choice. It had been enough to make Melbourne her undeniable home, to be returned to whenever possible. Perhaps she was the one who had been tamed, and she wondered whether she truly realised the cost. She took a deep breath and regained her smile.

“I’m sure my exploits were greatly exaggerated,” she said smoothly. “It’s been wonderful to meet you, but Susanna has promised to introduce me to everyone this evening. Perhaps we can chat again later?”

“I would love to,” said Albie.

“You as well, Kitty,” Phryne said with a smile. “We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”

The blonde looked at her coolly, but agreed. After making their goodbyes, Phryne and Susanna moved to the next guests. Phryne had made small talk with several groups—people who had not been at the chalet or have any serious ties to the situation, so less informative on the investigative front, but pleasant on a personal level—when she spotted a man across the room and froze.

His suit was slightly sharper than usual, his air more relaxed—this was Jack Robinson, but a Jack Robinson who was completely confident in his charms. There was a young woman with him, her dark hair rolled elegantly, and she hung onto his every word. Jack said something, gesticulating animatedly, and Phryne remembered the feel of his hands skimming across her skin and swallowed hard.

“Oh look, Irene’s free,” said Susanna, calling Phryne’s attentions back to the matter at hand. Susanna was indicating a small mousy-looking blonde, and Phryne wondered whether their mutual resemblance to rodentia had been the reason she and Albie had struck up a relationship. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Irene turned out to be, in direct contradiction to her appearance, confidently exuberant; she embraced Phryne immediately, squeezing her tightly.

“So lovely to finally meet you! Susanna has spoken of you for years, but I never thought I would have a chance to really meet you!” she exclaimed, eyes bright. She dropped her voice and leant in, as if conveying some great secret. “Tell me, did you really climb Kilimanjaro?”

“I did,” Phryne said. “Admittedly I did not get as far as I would have liked, but I’ve climbed some lovely mountains closer to home.”

She had, in fact, dragged Jack on an expedition to the Victorian Alps; admittedly they hadn’t gone much further than the cabin she had rented, but it had been a memorable experience nonetheless; without thought, Phryne sought him out again. He was still across the room, and didn’t appear to have noticed her presence.

“Oh, how thrilling!” Irene was saying, eyes wide in excitement; Phryne forced her attentions back onto the conversation.

“Yes, yes. It was wonderful. Do you climb then, Irene?”

“Oh no. I appear to be allergic to the outdoors in general—I end up all stuffy and miserable. I am _strictly_ an armchair admirer.”

“A shame,” said Phryne.

They spoke for a few more minutes about superficial things, then Susanna drew a quick breath and Phryne turned; her friend looked shaken.

“Thos,” Susanna said quietly, motioning towards the door with her head.

Thomas Martens could have been a film star; he was tall and broad-shouldered, with a wide smile that practically promised a woman’s satisfaction by itself. He was also an accomplished musician and widely read, which made him a deadly combination for Susanna. Unfortunately, their affair had been brief and the ending brutal.

“How am I going to explain inviting him?” Susanna whispered.

“A little late to be worrying about that now, don’t you think?” Phryne whispered back. “But he came, so…”

Thos had crossed the room to greet them, taking Phryne’s hands in his.

“Phryne, darling! Irene, it feels like it has been years! Where have you been hiding yourself?” he didn’t pause for a response, not that Phryne had expected him to. “And Susanna! Swell party.”

“Thos! I’m so glad you could make it,” said Susanna. “Tell me, how is your mother?”

“Still suffering from whatever malady crosses her mind, I’m afraid,” he smiled, voice light. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. “But we have the best doctors in Sydney on call and she always seems well enough when it’s convenient.”

Susanna laughed.

“If one is to be ill, I suppose that is the way to do it. And you?”

“Well, well,” Thos said, nodding absently as he scanned the room. “Have you seen Rosalie?”

Rosalie was the final guest of that fateful chalet trip, which was rather serendipitous. Unfortunately, Susanna shook her head.

“She said she would be arriving later this evening. She had some business to attend to that meant she left Sydney later than expected.”

“Oh, a shame,” said Thos. “She’s been very busy lately, I feel like I hardly see her. Still, these things happen. If you’ll excuse me, I see some canapes calling my name.”

As they watched him retreat, Susanna leant in towards Phryne.

“She’s probably avoiding him after he behaved like an utter scoundrel at her annual Christmas party. She was nearly in tears when she told me about it.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” said Phryne, “but he’s always had a devilish streak in him.”

They continued to move through the room, speaking with guests about the weather or the drive to the chalet. Phryne sipped her champagne and steadfastly avoided searching the room for a particular face. It did not last.

“Ahh, this gentleman you may know,” Susanna said, motioning to Jack as he approached. “He’s from Melbourne as well.”

Jack stopped short, giving her a rather ridiculous bow.

“Phry—Miss Fisher,” he said; she had forgotten how his voice went straight through her. “I wasn’t aware you were attending this weekend.”

“Nor I you,” she said, giving a strained smile.

The brunette she had seen with him earlier came closer, linking her arm with his. Up close, Phryne could see she was just his type—her heart-shaped face and big blue eyes made her appear sweetly feminine, but there was an expression on her features that told Phryne she was a fighter. He turned towards the woman and gave a small, warm smile.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, his eyes on Phryne once more. “I would like to introduce you to my wife.”


	2. Chapter 2

_My wife._

She had known it was coming, but she had to admit that the easiness of his words were rather like a blow to her solar plexus all the same. Jack didn’t seem to notice, touching the young woman’s hand. The ruby on her finger caught the light beautifully. Not his mother’s ring, then; not that she had expected it to be, but the discovery was more relieving than she cared to admit.

“Louisa, this is the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.”

“Phryne is fine,” she laughed, extending her hand in greeting. “I’m afraid your husband and I go quite a ways back.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Louisa smiled. “Perhaps you two would…” she gestured towards the dancing party-goers. “It will give you a chance to catch up.”

“Oh no, I’m not sure—”

“Louisa, dear, that might—”

“Nonsense!” she said dismissively, waving a hand. “I’m absolutely beat, but John here does so love to dance.”

The grin on Louisa’s face told Phryne that the woman knew full well that Jack was a reluctant dancer, at least in this sort of context, and was enjoying the chance to tease him—Phryne decided that she rather liked the woman despite her misgivings.

“Well then, _John_ , I suppose we had better…” Phryne said, tilting her head.

He offered his arm and they moved towards the makeshift dance floor. Within seconds she was in position for an approximation of a foxtrot; they moved in sync easily, as they always had.

“I’m not sure your wife will approve of this,” Phryne teased under her breath, and Jack chuckled.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, drawing her slightly closer.

“I have to admit this was not quite what I expected when I asked for your help,” she replied. “My bed has been terribly cold.”

His thumb caressed her hand softly, and he ducked his head forward to whisper in her ear.

“Susanna has put Louisa and I up in different rooms, but that won’t make a difference,” Jack said. “Believe me, I’ve tried to find a solution, but it’s too big a risk.”

“I know. We are merely old acquaintances crossing paths, after all. Even this dance is going to draw attention, if we get any closer.”

He nodded but did not release her, breathing deeply, no doubt luxuriating in her scent after weeks apart—Phryne knew, because she was reminding herself of his. She had missed him terribly.

“It’s John Richards,” Jack said. “We thought it might be best if the identities were close to our own names, for Louisa’s sake. I’m in the import business.”

Louisa Richards—really Louisa Strathearn—was Melbourne’s first female constable. When Jack had approached the commissioner regarding a five-year-old disappearance and the recent blackmail, he had been ordered to take the woman undercover with him. Phryne could see the logic—a female constable would be incredibly useful undercover with sufficient training, and as far as the commissioner was concerned, Jack was one of the best men to complete said training—but the commissioner’s insistence that they establish their identities in Melbourne for the month leading up to this weekend gathering meant that Phryne hadn’t seen Jack in ages. She had forgotten how badly she could come to want him, and now he was there, holding her, even, and she could not have him.

“Mac says hello,” she murmured, “and Dot’s had the baby—another little girl. And Will’s taken your dog fishing, and—”

“Phryne.”

“—Mr. Butler is already planning—”

“ _Phryne,_ ” he repeated; she stopped talking for a moment. “You can tell me later.”

He had missed so much. They were still moving around the dance floor, not that she was particularly aware of the music, her mind on all the moments he hadn’t been there in the past few weeks; he caught her moment of melancholy, because he tilted his head just so, and gave a smile only she would recognise.

“We should just enjoy the dance,” she said, laughing softly at her own absurdity.

He pivoted in silent agreement, and Phryne allowed herself to get lost in the steps. When the song they were dancing to was done, he gave her hand a final squeeze before releasing her and stepping back.

“A pleasure, as always, Miss Fisher, “ he said with a small bow. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my dear bride.”

She watched him leave, then grabbed another drink and mingled with the crowd once more.

———

He had seen her the minute she’d entered the room, and he’d nearly lost the line of conversation as he watched her move from guest to guest; there was some complex knot arrangement on her dress that dipped down her exposed back, and the urge to run his fingers over it was great. It was ridiculous, really, how he had gone years without touching a woman, but a few weeks away from her was enough to drive him to distraction. Eventually he had been unable to resist, and crossed the room to say hello at least.

“Phry—” he caught himself and gave a small smile. “Miss Fisher. I wasn’t aware you were attending this weekend.”

He had been, of course, but it would not do for the stranger to be too close to the notorious lady detective.

“Nor I you,” she said; he suspected her strained smile was not entirely pretense. Her role to play was no doubt the more difficult.

He felt Louisa come up then, and gave the officer a small smile; she was a good cop, willing to put in the work even in a ridiculous assignment, but not sycophantic.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, looking back to Phryne; she was wearing his favourite shade of lipstick, and he could almost taste the vanilla and wax. “I would like to introduce you to my wife.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Louisa soon found an excuse to get the two of them into a private discussion; when Phryne moved into his arms, he closed his eyes—just for a second—before he began to move. The music lasted only a few minutes, but he savoured every second of it: the warmth of her body, the sensation of movement together, the softness of her skin beneath his hands, her perfume—Jack briefly wondered whether he should buy a bottle for his own house, then realised that was a level of lovesick sentimentality that even he could not bear—the quiet pitch of her voice in their whispered conversation.

The song ended far too quickly, and in place of a kiss he squeezed her hand.

“A pleasure, as always, Miss Fisher. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my dear bride.”

Their paths did not cross again, though he was always aware of her—he usually was, somehow. He and Louisa did strike up a long conversation with Thomas Martens, one of the people of interest to their inquiry, and met the others. Even Rosalie White, who didn’t arrive until after midnight with a story about mechanical problems with her motorcar that she told the entire party; Jack had caught Phryne’s eye at that and left her to it. Eventually the gathering quieted, people seeking out their bedrooms (and, in some cases, other people’s instead), and Jack and Louisa made their excuses. Their bedroom was, thankfully, two rooms joined by a lavatory, their hostess the only person aside from Phryne aware of their true identities. The arrangement would allow them privacy but the freedom to talk without the risk of being overheard.

He had just removed his suit jacket when there was a knock, and damn if he didn’t have a half second of wishing it was Phryne before realising it came from the lavatory.

“Come in,” he said quietly, and Louisa stepped through the door.

“I believe that went well, sir.”

“I’ve told you, there’s no need for sir here. It will just raise suspicions if we’re overheard.”

“I hear some men like that sort of thing,” Louisa said placidly, and Jack wondered whether new constables came out of the academy cynical nowadays.

“Well I don’t. Not from my wife, and under the circumstances you are your cover first and a police officer second unless I say otherwise.”

“Yes s—Yes, John.”

“Now, did you have any specific questions tonight, or…?”

“I just wanted to mention that I spoke with Irene Armitage while you were dancing with Miss Fisher,” Louisa said, removing her earrings. “The victim’s sister? She was very friendly, and she’s asked me to sit with her at breakfast.”

“Good job,” Jack said. “The more friendships we can strike up, the more people will talk. Without access to a crime scene and dealing with memories of events years in the past, we need every advantage we can get.”

“Of course,” Louisa agreed, heading back towards the lavatory door. “And sir? Thank you for this opportunity.”

———

Thos’s bedroom was directly across from Phryne’s, a fact she discovered when he offered to walk her back to the room as the party came to a close. He lingered by her door, clearly waiting for an invitation; Phryne looked up at him and smiled.

“Susanna is a very dear friend,” she said. “I really don’t think that another evening between us is advisable.”

They had had a fling several years before; he’d been adequate—fun, at least—but not an experience Phryne wished to revisit even if she was free to do so. She resisted the urge to glance down the hall and wonder which door hid her Jack. Thos nodded.

“I can’t deny I’m disappointed,” he said, “but sleep well.”

Then he crossed the corridor to his own room; Phryne waited until his door was closed before opening her own. Between the long drive and the party she was feeling tired, but she thought it would be good to go over the notes she had and add any new information before falling into bed.

Rosalie’s explanation for her late arrival was either a transparent lie or she really did not understand the basic mechanics of the motor vehicle she drove—foolish, but not improbable. All four suspects from that weekend lived in the same area of Sydney, which was the opposite end of the city that the postmark showed, and none of them had any business or connection to the area that Phryne could find. The only other person at the chalet had been Mavis Smith, a servant who had been with the Armitage family since William and Irene were children, and she had passed away several years earlier; it was possible she had witnessed something and shared the information, but Phryne had reached a dead end on that aspect of the investigation, and it did nothing to explain why it was being brought back up now.

All in all, she was not much further ahead than she had been. But she had time now, and two police officers with their ears to the ground. Thinking of Jack, she smiled; he had looked positively delectable that evening, and if she could not have him she could at least fantasise about having him. Unfastening the small buttons beneath her arm, she shrugged the silk sheath off her shoulders and let it pool around her feet before stepping out.

Leaving her undergarments on, Phryne climbed into the bed, Tracing a hand down her breasts and stomach, she pretended the touch was his, that his body moved with hers, that his eyes watched her as she writhed, that he whispered sweet words of encouragement as she chased her pleasure; when she came, it was with the soft cry of his name and a fervent wish he was there.

In the morning, Phryne bathed and dressed in dark high-waisted trousers and a green blouse with a coordinating jacket over top, then stepped out of her bedroom. By coincidence, Jack was leaving his, and they fell into step as they headed towards the dining room

“Morning, John.”

“Miss Fisher.”

He tilted his head as they reached the stairs.

“Where is your dear Louisa?”

“She went down ahead this morning.”

“Ahh,” Phryne said, then glanced over her shoulder to ensure there was nobody within earshot. “I want it in your official reports that this arrangement is excessively cruel.”

“Is it?” he asked calmly, mouth twitching in a small smile.

“Excessively. You have no idea the tortures I endured last night, all alone in that big bed,” she purred, and he shifted somewhat uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

“Believe me, there were no tortures I hadn’t already imagined,” he replied, his hand burrowing into his pocket to keep from reaching out for her; she felt her own clench in response.

“Please right your tie before I give in and cause a scandal.”

There was nothing wrong with his tie, in truth, but he adjusted the knot slightly and tugged his sweater vest—a navy knit that did wonders for his eyes—all the same. Not quite as effective as doing it herself, but Phryne gave him a smile.

“Come downstairs,” she said. “Susanna always has an amazing spread for breakfast.”

———

There were only two seats left when Jack and Phryne arrived at the breakfast room at the same time; sparing a glance for Louisa, who was deep in conversation with Irene, Jack pulled the chair out for Phryne and decided not to quibble over the bit of serendipity. They didn’t have much time to talk, but beneath the table their fingers brushed, and he was intensely aware of her proximity.

“Susanna?” Phryne asked. “Do you have anything planned for this morning?”

“I thought we could take the snowshoes and go for a walk,” she smiled. “There is a lovely little waterfall not far from the chalet, and we can have some hot cocoa when we get back.”

“Not for me,” said Irene. “You know how much nature affects me.”

Jack wasn’t aware that was likely to be a problem in the middle of winter, but he nodded to Louisa, who volunteered to stay with Irene.

“Wonderful!” Susanna exclaimed. “And Phryne, you could walk with Rosalie—I think you two are on par, skillwise. John, since you don’t know many people here, you can walk with me. If everyone else would pair off and get changed, we can meet by the front door in half an hour?”

The large company agreed, and left to prepare for the trek. Half an hour later, Jack was bundled up and ready to go; he saw Phryne talking with Rosalie, Thos and another guest, her dark bob lustrous against the white of her fur collar and bright red coat.

“Your wife seems very nice,” came a voice behind him, and Jack jumped. Turning, he saw another suspect—Albie, he remembered—and his guest, a young woman named Kitty. “Offering to stay with Irene.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Yes, Louisa is such a dear.”

“A saint, more like,” giggled Kitty. “The woman is insufferable.”

For a second Albie looked pained, but he laughed it off. “The poor girl can’t help it, Kitty. Someone had to epitomise the idea of mediocrity, and Irene gladly took up the mantle.”

“Oh Albie,” she giggled, slapping his arm lightly. “You are so naughty.”

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes—his acquaintance with Phryne had rather perfected the skill, at least—and changed the topic. First the weather, then onto the topic of their host.

“Have you known Susanna long?” Jack asked.

Albie nodded. “Since we were all children, really. Susanna and I, Irene, Thos and Rosalie over there—” he gestured towards Phryne’s group, then pressed his lips together. “There were a couple more—Rosalie’s brother died in the war, and Irene’s brother…” Albie shook his head, realising what he had said. “But yes, I’ve known her for years. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just making conversation,” Jack said, then dropped his voice as if admitting a confidence. “I hardly know her myself, but she was so kind to invite us. She and Louisa share some club or another, and when she heard that it was our anniversary and we’d never managed a honeymoon, she insisted we come. I was worried it would be awkward—”

“Never!” cried Albie. “Susanna always throws the best parties, even if she does limit the entertainments to alcohol.”

“Very good alcohol, at least,” Jack said, remembering the sip of champagne he hadn’t managed to decline.

“Only the best for a Parr,” Albie laughed. “It’s a wonder she can still manage with the economy the way it is, but she was always a keen businesswoman.”

Which reminded Jack that he would need to ask Phryne about the financial states of their suspect pool; she had no doubt looked into it more thoroughly than he had had a chance to, cooling his heels undercover for weeks on end as a training exercise. Being in favour with the chief commissioner definitely had its downsides. Just then, Susanna arrived.

“Hello again darlings!” she exclaimed, bustling the entire herd of people towards the door. “Come along then—I’ve told the staff we’ll be back in an hour and looking to warm up. Best if we head off now, otherwise we’ll have to hurry on the trip back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas Martens was a man who heard a no, acknowledged a no, and still did not believe it to be sincere. It was the most aggravating habit, and one he was rather impervious to criticism on; it really had killed any attraction there had once been between them. As they left the chalet, trudging through the fresh snow on their walk, he continued to prattle on; Phryne did her best to tune him out, admiring the scenery. It really was a lovely setting. She had hoped to get more time with Rosalie, the most evasive of the people connected to the case, but Thos seemed determined to insert himself into their discussions. They were most of the way to the waterfall before he seemed to understand that Phryne was sincere in her attempts to disengage and wandered off to bother somebody else.

“Honestly!” she exclaimed, shooting him a dirty glare.

“Thos is rather convinced that the world revolves around him,” Rosalie said quietly; outside the structure of a party, she was a very reserved woman.

Phryne made a rude gesture in his direction. “Tosser.”

Rosalie laughed, a soft, timid sound. “You’re far braver than I am, Phryne.”

Phryne paused to look at her properly; Rosalie did not meet her eyes, studying her feet instead.

“You can’t let entitled men dictate your life,” Phryne said.

“No, I suppose not. But I have to admit it is easy for me to agree now, but in the face of it…” Rosalie gave herself a shake. “I’m sorry. I’m being absolutely ridiculous, you don’t know me and my complaints are of no interest. Carry on.”

“I have found,” Phryne said, leaning in as if in confidence, “that complaints of women facing petulant men are almost always of interest.”

“That’s very kind of you to say—”

“I’m utterly sincere,” she said firmly. “There’s no use going it alone.”

“I’ll be fine. Thos… he’ll leave you alone soon enough, I’m sure, and I’m used to his single-mindedness.”

Phryne nodded. “If he gives you any trouble, send him my way.”

“He’s not my biggest concern,” Rosalie muttered, then flushed.

Phryne didn’t respond, not wanting to frighten the woman; instead she made a point of searching the group for Susanna, who was—Phryne remembered a split second before spying her—walking with Jack. The sight of his familiar gait sent a shiver straight through her, and she concluded that she was entirely too besotted with him. She adored the man’s _walk_ , for heaven’s sake! It was a brief detour of her thoughts, but entirely ridiculous. She smiled softly; ridiculous or not, she was glad of it. Even if she couldn’t allow herself to act on it for the moment.

“You know, Susanna’s been acting rather… jumpy, lately. Have you noticed?”

Rosalie shook her head a little too emphatically.

“I’ve barely seen her since I’ve arrived, I’m afraid.”

“I wonder if it has anything to do with that envelope…” Phryne said speculatively. Not her most subtle fishing expedition, but it got a bite; Rosalie perked up slightly. “She looked like it was a snake about to strike her when it arrived.”

“When was this?” Rosalie asked.

“Last week, at her home. I had stopped by for a cup of tea when her butler brought it in; it was most peculiar.”

Rosalie hummed, turning to watch Susanna.

“Did you see the contents by any chance?”

“No. There was a Sydney postmark; I must admit I had half a hope this weekend would uncover some answers. Susanna is such a dear friend, but so secretive at times. She’s never once told me why she moved to Melbourne after spending her entire life in Sydney.”

Rosalie grimaced. “I imagine she wanted a fresh start.”

“Whatever from?”

Glancing around to make sure nobody else was within earshot, Rosalie leaned in.

“A few years ago the man she was connected with disappeared. There were a lot of rumours about the nature of this connection, and whether she was involved. But I’ve known her for years, and I’m certain her grief was sincere. I suspect it became too much for her to bear, eventually, and she went elsewhere. I was surprised she invited so many friends from Sydney this weekend, to be honest.”

The shock on Phryne’s face was only half deliberate; Susanna had never so much as hinted that there had been an affair between her and William, and she had to wonder what else her friend had hidden.

“How horrible,” she said, hoping her voice struck the right note of scandalised and intrigued. “Did they never find him?”

“Never. She was devastated. We all were.”

“We?”

Rosalie paled. “All of the Sydney group, I mean. William was such a fixture in the community, always ready for a party. That’s why some people suspected Susanna, I think—she was worried that he partied a little too hard. I overheard them arguing one night.”

Phryne found herself wishing that all of her investigations came with an unrepentant gossip. Unfortunately, the discussion came to an end as they arrived at their destination—the waterfall really was a charming feature, at least. They admired it for some time, people talking amongst themselves, then turned to return to the chalet. The natural beauty was rather lost on Phryne as they walked back; she had some more inquiries to make.

———

Susanna Parr was a charming woman; Jack could easily see why she and Phryne were friends. As they walked she talked to him about a variety of things—novels and travel and her recent forays in painting; she guided the conversation with such grace that he was put at ease. Eventually the conversation turned towards the investigation, or as much as it could in a public setting.

“Is Rosalie often late?” Jack asked, glancing over his shoulder; Phryne was several groups behind them, clearly trying to speak with Rosalie while Thomas Martens hovered like a particularly persistent fly.

Susanna sighed. “I wasn’t surprised by her late arrival yesterday, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s not really kept in touch since I moved to Melbourne.”

“Have you known her a long time?”

“The four boys—Thos, Albie, William, and Rosalie’s brother Andrew—went to school together. Used to call themselves the Musketeers.”

“Does that make you Milady de Winter?” Jack teased.

Susanna laughed, pursing her lips. “You presume the worst of me, sir. I could be a Constance.”

“I must admit it seems unlikely,” he said, tilting his head. “You strike me as a woman of action.”

“Does your wife know you’re a flirt?” she asked coquettishly.

A quick retort was on his tongue, but the sudden thought of the… _openness_ in these circles cut it short. Susanna laughed again, leaning in.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “Phryne made it abundantly clear that you’re the monogamous sort. I’m just teasing.”

Jack swallowed hard.

“Uh, that’s… good,” he muttered, thankful his hat was pulled low enough the blush creeping onto the tips of his ears would be missed. “Back to Rosalie…”

As they continued to walk, Susanna found a way to fill him in on the background and characters of their suspects—he’d investigated before, of course, but it was interesting to see what Susanna brought up now that everyone was together once more. Several times she looked back to the other parties, her lips narrowing whenever she looked at Thomas.

“I can never tell whether they—” she stopped herself, giving a small shrug. “Thos and Rosalie. She has a history of choosing utter scoundrels, but he continues his pursuit. I can only presume she’s resisted his charms; it might be the only act of wisdom she’s ever achieved.”

“Did she ever…” Jack arched an eyebrow, “with William Armitage?”

Susanna recoiled. “No. No, Will was far too kind and easy-going for her to have any interest in.”

“What about Albie then?”

“No, Albie and Irene were always… and then once they’d called it off, Albie was firmly off limits. It’s one thing to swap lovers, but quite another to take up with the man who broke a friend’s heart.”

Jack nodded. “What does Rosalie do for a living?”

Susanna snorted. “Not much, if she can help it. There’s a fashion house that’s more vanity than business, but even there she leaves others in charge as much as possible.”

For someone who was ostensibly a friend, Susanna did not seem to think highly of her. Curious, but not incriminating. They continued to talk as they walked—their capacity to discuss the case limited by having so many people around, they moved on to the flora and fauna of the area. The waterfall itself was charming, the layer of snow making the whole thing rather picturesque. Jack glanced towards the sky; the grey clouds and stirring of the wind suggested more snow was on its way.

“Perhaps we should head back?” he suggested to Susanna, pulling down his leather glove enough to glance at the time. “It’s nearly lunch.”

She nodded. “Looks like we might be headed for a change in the weather.”

———

Returning to the chalet, Susanna’s staff met them with hot cocoa and biscuits, and the guests all entered the parlour to warm themselves in front of the roaring fire. Rubbing her hands together, Phryne wondered whether she could catch Jack’s attention to update him and see how his conversation had gone. Unfortunately he had excused himself to look for his wife, and Phryne felt the tiniest bit of irritability at the discovery; she did not need Jack’s presence every step of her investigations, but she was accustomed to him being _available_ at least.

“Looking for someone?” asked a voice, and Phryne turned to see Albie’s assessing gaze.

“I just wanted to thank our host for a lovely walk. Did you and Kitty enjoy yourselves?”

“Very much,” Albie replied; Phryne suspected he was lying through his teeth, but she wasn’t certain why. “I believe Susanna’s gone to check on the meal preparations, but she should be back soon.”

“Thank you. I’ll catch her in a moment then,” Phryne smiled, and took the opportunity to mingle with the other guests.

A lunch of sandwiches and finger foods was brought in, and Phryne spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon enjoying the company—everyone present was a friend of Susanna’s, and therefore interesting in one way or another, and she was enjoying herself immensely. There was very little progress made on the investigative front—other than one or two guests hinting around ‘the tragedy’, topics stayed firmly away from missing men or blackmail—but she made the acquaintance of several people with the potential to become good friends. People came and went as they wished, but Phryne noticed that neither Jack nor Louisa made an appearance until dinner; perhaps one of them had uncovered information of interest, and she felt another prickle of irritation as she realised that it was being discussed amongst themselves and not yet with her.

She could tolerate the pretense—in truth it amused her greatly, even if it did mean that she could not kiss him senseless—but the reality of being shut out of the investigation, regardless of how unintentional it was, rankled. Several times she made her way towards the parlour doors to seek them out, only to be waylaid by new conversation. As evening fell, dinner was called; a newly-returned Louisa caught her as everyone headed to the dining room, whispering to meet her in the library after dessert, and the momentary irritation faded.

Dinner was delicious, but Phryne made the mistake of mentioning her profession.

“A lady detective?” asked one of the guest, a doctor in Sydney. “I seem to recall reading about you, now that you mention it.”

Phryne laughed. “It’s a very rewarding pursuit, but I am firmly off the clock this weekend. I don’t think Susanna would forgive me if I discovered her butler was secretly an escaped felon or some such thing.”

“Is that likely, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, eyes dancing.

“It’s happened once or twice,” she admitted with a laugh. “But it’s hardly something to worry about. Susanna’s far too sensible for something like that. And all of my police contacts are in Melbourne, which is terribly inconvenient.”

She answered a few more questions, amazed that some of her cases had apparently made the newspapers in Sydney, and then the conversation moved on to other topics. When the last plates were cleared and people were heading to the parlour for another evening of games and dancing, Phryne glanced around to see if Louisa had headed to the library yet. Seeing no sign of the young constable, Phryne stood to join her. She was halfway down the hallway when a hand grabbed her elbow; she jerked it away and turned to see the perpetrator.

It was Irene Armitage, eyes red-rimmed as if she had been crying.

“Are you really a detective?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

The woman clenched her jaw, a look of determination in her eyes.

“Good,” she said. “I’d like to hire you.”

———

Jack had excused himself from the post-dinner gathering and headed to his bedroom, which had the mutual benefits of getting him out of more socialising and allowing him to place a telephone call to Melbourne to see if Collins had uncovered anything more on the postal angle. His leading senior constable had nothing new to share, though, so Jack congratulated him on the safe arrival of little Mary—“She’s as beautiful as her mother,” the proud father informed him, “and just as loud.”—and sat in a armchair to read the book he’d brought. Nearly an hour later there was a knock on the door, and he stood to open it; Louisa was on the other side, looking slightly perturbed. Jack stepped aside and motioned her in.

“I think Miss Fisher dislikes me,” she said without preamble as soon as the door was shut.

“Pardon?”

“I spoke to her before dinner like we agreed, so I could tell her what we’d learnt.”

Admittedly, what they had learnt wasn’t much. There had been some surreptitious investigation that afternoon, testing the spirit of the law if not the letter when it came to evidence admissible in court, and while it had not turned up much of interest—an old letter from Albie Quinton to Irene Armitage, a couple of packets of cocaine in Thos Martens’ room, and a diary Jack had not had the time to peruse before dinner—he had expected to update Phryne. No doubt she’d have her own snooping to do, and it was best not to waste time poking in corners that were already thoroughly investigated.

“And?” Jack prompted his constable, who was scowling slightly.

“She agreed to meet me, but I’ve been sitting alone in the library for over an hour waiting for her. I had half a hope she’d come here.”

That didn’t sound at all like Phryne.

“No, not here,” Jack said. “You’re sure you were waiting at the right place?”

“I think I know what a library is, sir.”

Jack should have reprimanded her for the insubordinate tone, but truthfully he was too preoccupied wondering where Phryne had gone. To chase up a lead, he presumed, but she usually left some word on what it was. He’d seen her leave the dining room around half-past nine, he had presumed to go the library as she’d told Louisa before the meal, but she’d never arrived.

“And you didn’t speak with her during the meal?”

“I was too far away. Do you think it’s personal, sir?”

“What?” Jack asked, his brain feeling sluggish as he worked through the options. “Personal? Why would it be personal?”

“Because…” the constable shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t asked sir, whether the rumours are true. But… I think maybe she might not appreciate another woman…?”

Jack laughed. “You think she might be concerned that her lover is going to be unfaithful?”

“No! Well, yes. I mean…”

“Believe me, constable, that is not something Miss Fisher would concern herself with. She’s quite certain of my fidelity.”

“So you are…?”

“We don’t make a point of publicising it, but yes, Miss Fisher and I are in a relationship. No, the rumours that it’s been going on for years are unfounded. No, her boudoir is not a den of iniquity where she casts her spell upon unwitting men. And no, she wouldn’t dislike you because you happened to get assigned to work with me. And quite frankly, if she disliked you she’d make no bones about it. No, this is… unlike her. She’s impulsive, but she keeps her word. I’m certain it’s nothing though; no doubt she’ll swan in here any moment with the blackmailer uncovered and requesting use of my handcuffs.”

“Is she really as good as they say then?”

“Better, probably,” Jack said with a fond grin. “Just don’t look to her for guidance on police procedures. The last bloke who tried it quit the force in tears.”

Louisa laughed. “Well, if you aren’t concerned then sir, I’ll check the library once more and rejoin the party.”

Jack nodded in dismissal, and Louisa was almost out the door when the niggling concerns got the better of him.

“When she does turn up, please let me know,” he said, resettling in his chair and opening his novel. He wasn’t worried. Not really. It was just better to know than not.

“Of course, sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I’d like to hire you,” said Irene.

Phryne briefly considered the possibility that it was a test of some sort, but there was no hint of deception in the woman’s face and she quickly discarded it.

“Should we find somewhere private?” Phryne asked, and Irene motioned to the door behind her.

“The study,” she said. “Nobody will be coming this time of night.”

Thankful that Irene hadn’t decided to attempt the library as well, Phryne followed her through. Irene took a seat in the desk chair, and Phryne reclined against it and looked at her.

“Why do you need a detective?” she asked gently.

“I presume you know the story of my brother?”

Phryne nodded. “I know that he disappeared a few years ago.”

“Yes. Well, that’s just the start of the story. He didn’t disappear, he was murdered. And I want to find out who did it.”

“I’m listening.”

Irene chewed on her thumbnail for a moment.

“There were six of us there that night, including our hostess—we often went away as a group.”

“Who was there?” Phryne asked.

“Susanna. Will—that’s my brother—and myself, Albie, Rosalie, and Thos. Who are all here this weekend. I know you said that you are on holiday, but…”

Phryne nodded again, gesturing for the woman to keep going.

“At the time, William and Susanna were… I’m not entirely certain. I think he was in love with her, but I’m not certain she felt the same way. I know he was almost frantic with worry on the way up, thinking she was going to call it off.”

“Did she?”

“I haven’t a clue. I didn’t see Susanna after dinner that night, but William seemed fine when I went to bed around ten, so if she did it must have been later than that? All I know is that he said goodnight, and was gone the next morning.”

“You said you didn’t see Susanna. Who was with him when you went to bed?”

“Albie, for certain,” Irene said. “Rosalie as well, and I think Thos had just left to get some more whiskey. Well, he claimed it was for more whiskey.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“I did, at the time, but…” Irene hesitated. “Susanna had a bad experience with cocaine, and didn’t allow it at her parties—anything like that, really—but Thos always likes to push boundaries. I’ve wondered…”

Phryne was well aware of Susanna’s aversion to narcotics, and nodded.

“And that was around ten?” Phryne could have sworn that Susanna had said he’d gone to bed at eight, but it was possible he had woken up again and rejoined the group.

“Yes, around ten. I got up at seven the next morning and he was gone.”

“Had his bed been slept in?”

“The sheets were rumpled and the jumper he’d worn the day before was on the back of the chair, but… I don’t know. The police thought he had, but it never felt right to me. William always turned his pillows at odd angles, but these were neat as a pin.”

“Hmm,” Phryne said. So far everything—except for the suggestion of drugs—was exactly as the police reports showed. “Was there any reason he might have left voluntarily?”

“He might have left—my brother had a temper and a flair for the dramatic—but he wouldn’t _stay_ gone, Miss Fisher.”

“Is that really evidence of murder though?” Phryne asked. “If he’d been drinking…”

“That might not be evidence of murder, but these could be,” said Irene stiffly, pulling a handful of envelopes from her handbag. “They started arriving six weeks ago.”

Phryne leant forward, taking the sheaf of papers and glancing through the contents. “I KNOW” was the first, followed up by threats of publicly revealing the truth of William’s disappearance and demands for money.

“I can’t afford to pay,” Irene said. “And if I thought they would reveal the truth, I’d welcome the revelation. But if they’re…”

“I understand,” said Phryne. “These letters suggest that there’s more to the story, but you don’t trust _this_ will reveal the truth behind it.”

Irene gave her a wan smile. “Perhaps I’m just being foolish. But he was my brother, Miss Fisher, and I’d do anything for answers.”

“I understand, Irene. And I’ll do what I can. I presume this secrecy means you would prefer I keep my inquiries discreet?”

“These people are my friends. It seems ridiculous that I could even consider them complicit in my brother’s death, but… I don’t know what else to think.”

Phryne reached out and laid a comforting hand on Irene’s arm. “I will be the soul of discretion. Now, I just have a few more questions…”

———

Questions answered—really, it just confirmed information Phryne had already gathered but could not admit she knew—Phryne promised to begin her investigation in the morning and asked to keep the threatening letters. Tucking them into her handbag, she told Irene to get some rest and snuck away to the library in the vain hope that Louisa would still be there. The policewoman was not, and Phryne debated whether it was better to attempt to find her or chase up a rather pressing development. The dilemma was resolved for her when she returned to the gathering and found Louisa nowhere in sight and Susanna readily available.

Jerking her head, she drew Susanna into the newly vacated study; when the door shut behind them, Phryne turned and folded her arms.

“You didn’t tell me that you and William were together.”

Susanna paled and looked away, trailing a finger over the globe in a corner and remaining silent.

“Susanna?”

“We weren’t!” she blurted out. “Or we were but we weren’t any more or… oh, I don’t even know Phryne!” Susanna cried, twisting her hands together. “I loved him. But I couldn’t be with him, not when he was like that.”

“Like what?”I

“He’d get… frantic. He’d start to believe all sorts of strange things. He’d accuse me of having an affair with another man, or that I was only with him for his money, or…” she sobbed, unable to complete the thought.

“He was jealous?”

“No! No, it was more than that. It was as if he lived in a different world when it hit; it was always worse when he had taken drugs, though that wasn’t the root of the problem. But I couldn’t stop him. I tried. I tried so hard, Phryne. I banned anything but alcohol at our gatherings. I stopped going out with friends so he wouldn’t have reason to believe I was going behind his back. I listened to his ramblings about the man down the road who was going to steal his peonies! But that weekend… that weekend was the end of it. He claimed he knew Albie and I were laughing about him behind his back, that we were planning for Albie to distract Irene until I married him, just so we could gain access to his money. I didn’t want his money, Phryne. I wanted _him_. I wanted my oldest friend, my lover, my funny, sweet William… but I couldn’t have him without the rest of it, and I was just so _tired_ , Phryne. That’s why I went to bed early that night, not him. I couldn’t face it again.”

“Why did you never mention this?”

Susanna’s face twisted in a bitter grimace. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear for that to be what people knew of him. He was so much more than that, Phryne. You have to believe me. If I thought it would have made a difference, I would have. I would have shouted it from the rooftops.”

“Do you think he could have…”

“Committed suicide?” Susanna asked. “No. No, definitely not. He was fixated on this ridiculous thought, but he wasn’t a danger to himself.”

That Susanna had leapt to that so quickly rather undermined her assertion, but it was not a pleasant prospect to face. Phryne stood and drew her friend in an embrace.

“Darling, I will guard this information as best I can. But I need to know—was there anything else?”

Susanna shook her head. “No. No, nothing else.”

———

Once Susanna had regained her composure, the two women rejoined the party. Louisa was still absent, and Phryne frowned—she really did need to update the other investigators, and Jack had excused himself with a headache. His constable’s apparent fickleness was disappointing. She contemplated sneaking away to join him in his bedroom—there was a certain sort of appeal in the idea—but she knew people would be in and out of that corridor for the next few hours, and the last thing she wanted to do was raise suspicions. So she danced a little, drank a little, steadfastly avoided the card game in the corner that was getting suspiciously rowdy, and eventually decided to head to bed, still musing over the evening’s developments.

The corridor was empty when she arrived upstairs, and she paused briefly in front of the door she thought was Jack’s. There was no sound coming from the other side and no light beneath the door, however, so she decided to continue to her own room. She stepped inside, turning on the lamp near the door, then paused. There was the unsettling feeling that something was off about the room, as if someone had been and gone and left only a lingering sensation behind. Grabbing a decorative statue from the table—it wasn’t as effective as her pistol, but needs must—she shut the door behind her and made a cursory search of the room. When it was cleared, she set the statue aside and made a more careful examination.

Someone had definitely been snooping through her room; they’d obviously tried to return things to their original places, but for someone with Phryne’s powers of observation it was easy to notice that the books on the bedside table were in the wrong order, and the bottle of Jicky had moved to the other side of the vanity. Confirmation came when she went to the wardrobe where her bag—containing the case notes and Susanna’s letters—rested. A strand of hair had been secured to the wardrobe handles, a childhood trick to see if someone had entered a room, and the hair was snapped. She quickly opened the doors and pulled out her valise, checking the false bottom—the notes were still there, along with other items, and hadn’t been disturbed. That was something, at least.

Giving herself a shake, she stood up; there was no point in dwelling on it now, but she’d make sure to lock her doors in the future and take to carrying her pistol with her. Better to be safe than sorry, after all. Checking around the room one more time, she changed into a nightgown and washed her face. It seemed that someone was not happy about the presence of a lady detective in the house. She could work with that.

———

Phryne hadn’t shown up, and Louisa hadn’t stopped in to say she’d seen her either. Just before midnight, Jack decided to turn in for the night. He wasn’t worried, not really, but he found he could no longer concentrate on the words on the page. It wasn’t really concern—this was an extortion case with no threats of violence, and Phryne could more than take care of herself—just that he was unused to having this little information or authority, and it left him irritable. Throwing on a pair of pyjama trousers but not bothering with the shirt, he climbed into bed and was asleep within minutes.

He was woken some time later, coming to awareness quite suddenly. Glancing at the clock—just after 2 am—he tried to place what had startled him awake. A soft sound at the door; Jack crept out of bed, cursing the fact that his police-issued pistol was unloaded and he didn’t have time remedy that, and headed towards the door. He stopped to the side and waited; after a moment the door swung open, and Jack grabbed the intruder; it took only a split second to recognise her by her perfume.

“Fuck, Phryne,” he whispered harshly, closing the door with his foot. “What if I’d had my damned gun?”

“Oh darling,” she whispered back, pulling her arms around his waist and drawing him nearer. “You’re far too good a police officer to shoot without identifying your target.”

“You are breaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

His heart was still thudding from the adrenaline.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This really couldn’t wait until the morning.”

“The case?”

“That too,” she laughed, pressing a quick kiss against his lips.

And Jack knew it was a terrible idea but, having her in his arms properly for the first time in a month, he found he really did not care. He kissed her back, heavy and desperate; she tasted… exquisite. A minute later he had her backed against the wall, hands tugging at her robe, her nightgown, her knickers, searching for her skin. Her own hands scrabbled against him, dropping down to tug the tie of his trousers and freeing his half-hard cock.

“God, Jack,” she gasped, stroking him. “I forgot how good you feel in my hand.”

“It’s not been that long,” he teased, biting his lip when she stroked him more forcefully in response.

“So long,” she argued. “I want you here. Up against the wall. Hard and fast, darling.”

“Contraception?”

“Taken care of.”

He resumed his frantic kissing, managing to pull off her knickers entirely without breaking away, pressed a finger into her folds and found her already ready for him.

“Christ, woman,” he hissed, and she grinned against his mouth. “Is it the danger?”

“Often,” she replied. “But in this case, it’s just you. Now come on.”

He cupped the back of her thighs and she leapt up, getting just enough height that Jack could pin her to the wall. There was very little finesse to their frantic coupling, spurred on by the illicit nature of the rendezvous and the weeks apart; the rhythm was erratic, the thrusts a little too eager, he hadn’t had a chance to get her started and he was already aggravatingly close—

“Perfect,” she breathed, arching against him and slipping a hand between them. “Keep going.”

“Not sure I could stop,” he panted, thrusting harder. Her fingers on her clit had her on the precipice, her lips parted, her breath hot on his face; he wasn’t going to last, but he was determined to bring her with him. She scratched the nails of her free hand against the bare skin of his back and he nearly lost control. “Phryne—”

“Jack,” she groaned. “So—” he could feel her orgasm building, her body tensed beneath him, her breath caught in her chest as she strained… he thrust again and she snapped, her walls clenching around him, her scream stifled by rolled lips and her face buried in his neck—the sound that escaped more of a whistle than a wail, and Jack laughed as he came after her.

Lowering her legs to the ground, they held each other close as they calmed—fingers brushed against arms, tender kisses, the silk of her nightgown against his chest.

“You sounded like a tea kettle,” he finally said, the comparison inescapable.

She giggled, her head pressed against his shoulder. “Your trousers are still around your ankles.”

“I have no idea where your knickers are.”

“We’re ridiculous.”

“We are. And as…” he swallowed hard, “enjoyable as that was, please tell me you didn’t just break in to—”

“No,” she said. “That was almost entirely unplanned.”

“Only almost?” he asked, attempting to regain his breath.

“A girl must be optimistic about these things,” she teased, tilting her head up to nibble his earlobe. “Especially when family planning is to be considered. But there have been some developments that really couldn’t wait.”

He groaned, trying to keep his attention on her words when her mouth was doing the most distracting things, and failing spectacularly. Her fingers were massaging his scalp, and if she didn’t stop soon he was going to be utterly useless. Phryne was having no such dilemma.

“Irene intercepted me on the way to meet with Louisa this evening—she’s not cross, is she? I really couldn’t get away.”

Right, the case. Professional.

“No. She wanted to update you on our conversations today, and see if you got anything of use.”

“Good. Anyway, Irene said she wanted to hire me to find out who murdered her brother. She’s convinced it _was_ murder, and she had information that never made it to the police reports.”

“Such as?”

“Irene thought there were drugs that night, and that it’s possible he overdosed and the others panicked. He and Susanna were having quite the affair and she had called it off due to his behaviour—which she never mentioned, by the way, until I confronted her after I left Irene. Irene’s been getting the letters as well, and she doesn’t have the money to pay.”

“So she’s hiring you to find answers about her brother’s disappearance, which somebody is attempting to blackmail her over?”

Phryne nodded. “Rosalie got quite jumpy when I mentioned Susanna getting an envelope. It’s possible the blackmailer knows nothing and is on a fishing expedition.”

“I’d say it’s probable, even. Looking for any nibble.”

“Which expands our suspect pool immensely—we were presuming the person knew some detail, but if they are casting this wide a net… William’s disappearance was, as I’m sure you can imagine, the subject of gossip for months, if not years. It could be literally anyone.”

“What’s your plan then?”

“I’m going to solve William’s disappearance, and hope that brings out the blackmailer.”

“Ahh, so you’re taking the easy option then?” Jack asked.

She kissed him once more, then released her hold, retrieved her underpants, and headed towards the door.

“Believe me,” she said over her shoulder, “without my favourite police officer, this is not the easy route.”

“I’ll tell Collins next time I telephone,” Jack said, and she shook her head and laughed.

With that, Phryne slipped out the door and headed to her own room. With absolutely no surprise, he found he missed her already.


	5. Chapter 5

Getting dressed the following morning, Phryne studied herself in the mirror, one hand tracing over the light marks Jack had left behind—a bruise at the crook of her neck, a graze from his evening stubble. She debated whether she wanted to cover it up—watching his reaction as he attempted to remain neutral would be great fun—but decided it would raise more questions than she was willing to answer. Choosing a jumper with a high neckline and attaching a fan-shaped emerald brooch, she touched the marks beneath the wool a final time before heading down to breakfast.

She saw Louisa standing in the corridor near the dining room, and Phryne called her name jovially and linked arms.

“I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been meaning to ask…” she began loudly, then dropped her voice and leant in close. “I apologise for last night. I was waylaid by the investigation.”

“The inspector suggested as much,” Louisa replied. “Did you…?”

“We’re up to three guests who I suspect are or have confirmed being blackmailed,” Phryne whispered. “I’ve made no headway with either of the men though. If you could focus on them today?”

“Of course. The—”

“Jack will defer to me on this matter,” Phryne said. “And anything you learn about William’s disappearance—even something inconsequential—I need to know immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Phryne is fine,” Phryne laughed. “And you’re doing an admirable job; I can imagine this feels rather like being thrown into the ocean without anybody asking if you could swim.”

Louisa laughed. “My father went his entire career without going undercover, and if the commissioner has his way it might be all I do.”

“It can be incredibly useful.”

“I’m glad it’s giving me the chance to work with—” Louisa hesitated, and Phryne kissed her cheek in friendly affection. “I didn’t mean…”

“Jack Robinson is the best police officer I know. Any constable would be lucky to be under his tutelage.”

“Yes!” Louisa exclaimed in relief, far too loudly. She blushed. “I meant, yes, that’s it precisely.”

“We’ll talk no more of it now,” Phryne said. “But if you play your cards right, a transfer to City South might be in your future.”

The girl visibly perked up at that. “Do you really think so? It would do wonders for my career.”

“I really do,” Phryne said, smiling, then raised her voice again. “Now, Louisa, darling, have you read the latest novel by Mrs. Christie?”

Louisa played along admirably, and they made their way into the dining room for breakfast. Halfway through her second plate, Albie came into the room, looking terribly hung over, and took a seat next to Phryne.

“Good morning,” she said placidly, buttering a thick slice of toast.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Is Kitty not joining us today?”

Albie laughed bitterly. “Kitty will not be joining us for the rest of the weekend.”

“No?”

“She—nevermind.”

“Does this have anything to do with you and Irene?”

Albie drew himself to his full height as best he could, attempting to look offended. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean!”

“I meant that you clearly still care for her, or think you do,” Phryne said. “I’ve found that little boys who tug on the braids of girls they like grow up to be much the same way as men. Not a trait I find particularly charming, I must admit.”

“That’s preposterous!”

Phryne took a bite of her toast. “Is it? I must be wrong then.”

“Absolutely wrong,” Albie asserted. “Irene is a smashing girl, but anything else is… folly.”

“Of course,” agreed Phryne. “Forget I said anything.”

“Already forgotten,” he replied, but it was clear he was rattled. After a moment, he leant in. “Who told you that Irene and I…? You haven’t been using your detective skills on me, have you?”

Phryne looked at him, aiming for charmingly flirtatious. “Why, do you have something to hide?”

“Of course not. I’m just not sure I like a detective nosing around—”

“Albie,” said Susanna firmly from behind them. “Phryne is here as my guest. I don’t particularly care for solicitors, but I don’t hold it against you.”

“I didn’t realise you were a solicitor!” Phryne said affably. “What do you practice?”

“Ahh, estate law,” Albie said awkwardly, clearly ashamed to have been caught out in such rude behaviour.

“Oh, I’ve had some interesting cases with estates and inheritance. I’d love to pick your brain some time.”

“I’m not sure how much help I would be—I’m not familiar with Victoria’s laws.”

“The client I am thinking of is based in Sydney, but no matter,” Phryne lied easily. “Are you planning to join us on today’s walk?”

“Perhaps another time,” Albie said, pushing away his half-full plate. “I’m afraid I must return to bed. Headache.”

“Of course. Rest well.”

Phryne watched him go, and pursed her lips in thought. The man was definitely nervous about something.

———

The previous day’s promised snowfall had gone through the afternoon and into the night, but had stopped sometime in the early hours, leaving a fresh and heavy layer. As breakfast concluded, Susanna suggested they go out on the snowshoes again, and agreement was quickly given by most of the guests. It would be Jack’s best opportunity to speak with their suspects or, if Phryne’s suspicions were correct—and they usually were—their potential blackmail victims. Irene and Albie both intended to stay at the chalet—Louisa offered to keep the former company again, and the latter had returned to bed with a headache—and Phryne was deep in conversation with Thos. Leaving Jack with either Susanna—who was a very nice woman, but a dead end on the investigative angle for the moment—and Rosalie, who Phryne suspected was also getting letters. The choice was obvious.

“John,” he said, approaching her with a hand outstretched for a handshake.

She looked at the hand carefully, then glanced towards his face.

“Rosalie.”

“You were paired with Miss Fisher yesterday, weren’t you?” Jack asked, smiling even as he dropped his hand.

“Yes. Why?”

Charming was clearly not the right tack to take.

“No reason. I’m simply trying to make conversation. Everyone else seems to have paired off.”

Rosalie glanced around, and seemed to draw the same conclusion.

“Very well, John. I warn you in advance, I’m quick on my feet and I don’t wait for slow walkers.”

“Fair enough,” Jack said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll try to keep up.”

He could not quite put his finger on Rosalie—the first night she had been the centre of attention from the moment she arrived, but seemed quiet and withdrawn since. And now she was moving with an air of deliberation that could rival Phryne when she was riled up. She barely spoke as they walked, and Jack was beginning to think that he would have been better off talking with Susanna after all.

Resigning himself to an unproductive excursion, Jack took the chance to enjoy the scenery—Melbourne didn’t get winter in quite this way, but he had some very fond memories of winter holidays in the mountains with his family. They were almost back at the waterfall they had stopped at the day before when he heard a sharp cry from behind him. He turned, and felt his stomach drop.

Phryne was on the ground, looking winded; she gingerly reached out to touch her ankle—the strap on the snowshoe had snapped, Jack realised—and winced. Her companion offered a hand to help her stand, and he saw her grit her teeth before taking it—injured enough she knew she shouldn’t be walking on it, but not injured enough to admit to such a thing. She’d be fine then, and the tension abated.

“Are you alright, Miss Fisher?” he called. “That looked like quite a nasty tumble.”

If it was possible for a glare to actually say ‘Fuck off’, he was pretty sure hers did. She brushed the snow off her jacket as best she could, then attempted to step forward; she cried out softly and almost stumbled, only just catching herself of Thos’s arm.

“I really can’t allow you to walk on that,” said Thos, sweeping her up into his arms.

“I don’t think you ‘allow’ me anything,” said Phryne, voice dry, then grinned mischievously as she looped her arms around his neck. “But since this seems like rather a lot of fun, I suppose I won’t protest. It is quite a way back though—I don’t suppose there are other gentlemen looking to take a turn?”

Several of the other guests—Jack couldn’t remember their names, preoccupied by trying to untangle the connections between the guests associated with the case—volunteered eagerly, which seemed to please her immensely. She really was a flirt, a fact that continued to amuse him; he supposed he could be jealous, and he had been in the past, but he was utterly certain in their relationship and felt no need.

“What about you, Mr. Richards? I think you may be the only gentleman who hasn’t replied,” she asked, her grin saying all the things her words could not.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he grinned in response. “Bad back. Shouldn’t lift anything heavier than a large paperweight.”

She laughed brightly. “I shall have to avail myself of all these other volunteers then.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no shortage,” he said, with a tilt of his head. “Should we cut our walk short then?”

———

Phryne turned the snowshoe over and over in her hands. The strap that had broken was frayed, and she cursed herself for not examining her equipment carefully; it had all been fine the day before, though, and the fraying looked fresh. If it was sabotage, it was definitely aimed at her; she’d brought these snowshoes from home, and they were distinctive enough that there was no mistaking them for the chalet’s equipment. She sighed. It would hardly be possible to do some surreptitious snooping with her ankle in this condition; she cast a mutinous look at the swollen joint, resting on a pillow. Another guest—a medical doctor—had declared it sprained and ordered her to bed for the rest of the day at least.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Jack slipped inside, and gave her a small smile as he crossed the room.

“How’s the reluctant patient?” he asked, fingers coming to rest just above the swelling.

“Reluctant,” Phryne retorted, then held up the snowshoe. “And I think it might have been deliberate.”

Jack examined it, fingering the frayed strap, then frowned.

“This is far too neat,” he agreed. “Aside from the investigation, is there any reason somebody might want you hurt?”

“I have a few theories,” she said. “The person snooping through my room last night might be a good place to start.”

Dry incredulity was Jack’s expression of choice, but this was a particularly good specimen.

“Was this before or after…?”

“Before,” she admitted.

“You didn’t think to mention you’d made yourself a target?”

“I have been a paragon of virtue since I arrived,” she huffed. “I haven’t even enjoyed a good flirtation, despite Thos’s attempts to cast himself as my saviour. Though if anybody catches you in here, Louisa might have motive.”

He grinned and moved his suit jacket to the side so she could see the large stain on his shirt.

“There was an incident with the cocoa and I excused myself to have a shower. I thought I’d say hello, though, see if you needed anything.”

“A working ankle would be nice.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, lifting her leg to examine it; she winced even at his tender touch, and he lowered it down again.

“It’s going to look spectacular for awhile, but it’s not broken.”

“Yes, so the _actual_ doctor said.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make the bruising coordinate with your dinner dress.”

“That was definitely my biggest concern.”

His lips quirked, and then he looked at her. “You are alright though?”

“Sore and annoyed, but I’m fine. Go take your shower—you can use mine if you’d like.”

“You’re hardly in any shape to join me, Miss Fisher,” he reprimanded teasingly.

“I wasn’t suggesting that I do. But there’s a clean shirt and undergarments in the false bottom of my bag—”

He held up a hand. “The less I know about this, the happier I will be.”

“Mr. Butler was concerned that the staff might not be up to scratch here,” Phryne explained, “and thought you might be in need of them. And since I didn’t want any staff noticing and wondering why I travelled with men’s clothing, false bottom it was.”

“You are a strange yet marvelous woman,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Thank you.”

She watched him go, then flopped back into her pillows. In under two minutes she would have a naked Jack Robinson in her room, and she was in no position to ravish him; the fact that someone appeared determined to hurt her was a rather more pressing matter. She must be getting close to something, but the only recent developments weren’t illuminating things any further. It was also possible that the simple presence of a private detective had been enough to worry the saboteur, and the snow equipment had been left easily accessible to every guest.

There was another knock on the door, and Phryne cursed—from the en suite she could still hear the shower running.

“Who is it?” she called as loudly as she could without being suspicious.

“It’s Louisa Richards,” came the reply. “I was just stopping by to see if you needed anything?”

Phryne breathed out a sigh of relief; of all the possible people, Louisa was the only one she would be grateful to see.

“Come in,” she called out; from the other room, she heard the shower shut off.

Louisa came in, hesitating awkwardly by the door.

“Is…?” she motioned towards the closed door to the en suite.

“Yes.”

“How is your ankle?”

“Swollen enough I should be able to convince the pretty young men to carry me like a queen for a few days at least,” laughed Phryne, and Louisa looked shocked. “Best get used to it, if you’re intending to stick to your current career path. Carnal urges are one of the leading causes of murder.”

“And here I thought that was your presence,” Jack said, towelling off his hair as he rejoined them; he’d dressed surprisingly fast.

“Correlation, not causation,” Phryne sing-songed.

“My mistake. Louisa, is there something you needed?”

“Not exactly. I thought that it might be a good time to check in, and with my absence—”

“Oh, how clever!” exclaimed Phryne. “Now Jack’s contrived excuse looks like you were looking for an opportunity for an afternoon distraction.”

“An afternoon…?” Louisa looked puzzled, then surprised. “Oh!”

Phryne laughed, and Jack shot her a reprimanding look.

“It’s quite brilliant, really,” she told Louisa. “Just make certain one of your buttons is done up crooked when you go back down and you’ll have carte blanche. I’m certain all the guests have done it from time to time. Your inspector included.”

“Phryne!”

“I didn’t mean with _me_ , Jack,” Phryne said with complete innocence.

“I’m not certain that’s actually any better. Miss Fisher, will you please stop tormenting my constables?”

He attempted to frown at her—not a deterrent even when he was sincere—but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. Perhaps it was time to push her luck.

“So I take it now is not the time to suggest you both make sure you’re seen leaving my boudoir? It will distract the gossips and give us a reason to be whispering in quiet corners…”

“You’re a menace,” Jack said affectionately.

“You love me for it.”

“I do,” he agreed. “I still refuse to engage in this nonsense.”

“Fine,” Phryne pouted. “We’ll come up with something else. But I’m bored, Jack.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “God help us all.”


	6. Chapter 6

After checking in on Phryne, Jack and Louisa headed back to join the company. If the snowshoe sabotage was related to the case, and it seemed likely, someone was getting desperate. Which would potentially put their cover under scrutiny; Jack loosened the knot on his tie slightly, and dropped a pointed look to Louisa’s buttons—she twisted the fabric around one slightly so it looked as if it had been fastened in a hurry—before heading into the billiards room where people were gathered. Several years of acquaintance with Phryne made him rather immune to the pointed looks directed their way, but Louisa went red.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “See if you can get anything from Martens; play up the dashing hero if you have to. The man’s a peacock.”

“And quite enthralled by Miss Fisher.”

“Unfortunately for us, Miss Fisher is not here to interview him. But you are, so go, constable.”

For his part, Jack attempted to continue his conversation with Rosalie but was rebuffed yet again. From across the room he saw Albie speaking with Irene, their voices too low to make out but their expressions furious. He moved in their general direction—there were some bookshelves along the wall he could browse—and tried to catch what they were talking about.

“Reenie,” Albie whispered pleadingly, and Jack had to keep from doing a double take; the nickname was a level of intimacy he hadn’t witnessed between the two of them. “If—”

The clack of balls on the billiards table startled Albie before he could complete the thought, and when he did his voice had dropped again and Jack could not make out what he said. After a minute, Irene moved away, still slightly flustered, and Albie watched her go almost wistfully.

“Women,” Jack said in commiseration.

Albie met him with a level stare. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said coolly. “And I believe your lovely wife is attempting to get your attention.”

Jack turned; Louisa was gesturing him over to the quiet corner where she and Thos were speaking. He crossed the room.

“John, darling!” she exclaimed. “Thos here was just telling me the most thrilling story about a trip he took to India.”

Thos looked slightly put out by Jack’s arrival, and he remembered Phryne warning him before he’d gone undercover that the man was a known lecher. Placing a hand on the small of Louisa’s back, he smiled and kept the conversation steered towards places Thos had travelled.

After a few more hours of small talk and dinner, Jack and Louisa took an early night. He hoped to be able to sneak into Phryne’s room once more to update her on the complete lack of progress and to speak with her about the people involved—he missed her insights, missed curling into a chaise with his arm along the back, the ends of her hair brushing against it when she moved her head—but unfortunately several other guests with bedrooms along the same corridor decided to retire at the same time and he missed his chance. He would find a reason to visit her again tomorrow, if she was not up and about and wreaking havoc before breakfast.

———

On her third morning at the chalet, Phryne woke up to discover her ankle was still throbbing painfully. Dinner the night before had been brought to her room, and as much as she appreciated a chance to lounge in bed, she preferred attractive company and no pain while she did so. There was nothing for it—she would hobble downstairs in search of food, and woe betide anyone who objected.

Unfortunately, the minute her feet hit the floor her vision swam and she realised the extent of the injury; she sank back onto the mattress and breathed deeply, waiting for the nausea to pass. Walking would not be possible any time soon. A servant arrived bearing a breakfast tray and a note from Susanna, and Phryne quickly wrote a reply and settled in to read a novel.

After lunch—another meal in bed, marking a solid 24 hours laid up—Louisa came into the bedroom, and shut the door behind her.

“I appear to have gained a reputation as the woman who will stay behind to keep others company,” she said. “Irene’s taken herself to bed for a headache—really, I’m beginning to think everyone here is on their deathbeds with these headaches—but everyone else has gone out.”

“Excellent!” Phryne said, sitting up straighter and fluffing the blanket. “Not only can you be my entertainment for the afternoon, we can go over the facts of the case and see if anything leaps out at us. How do you like to work?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you like to work? Some police officers prefer committing it all to paper, others like to talk it out… Jack’s been known, on the really tricky cases, to make what amounts to an enormous map of information.”

“Well… I don’t know, I suppose. I’ve only been a constable for a few months, and the academy…”

“Was not particularly illuminating on such matters?” Phryne guessed. “Believe me, I’ve seen some of the police officers it turns out. You are already head and shoulders above them.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Louisa, a piece of advice—you will need to be your own champion if you hope to hold your own in the constabulary. You’ll have allies—Jack Robinson is _not_ the only forward-thinking police officer on the force despite my occasional assertions—but the bulk of it will rest of your own shoulders. It’s unfair, but it’s the way of it. You’ve spent a month with Inspector Robinson and _clearly_ impressed him, which is no mean feat; embrace this and move forward.”

“Do you think I have?” she asked.

“Believe me, if you hadn’t you would know. He’s respected and well-liked, but he has no qualms correcting constables who step out of line.”

“You really do care about him, don’t you?”

Phryne looked at Louisa sharply.

“Constable, Inspector Robinson might worry about being fair. I do not.”

Louisa looked horrified. “I meant—oh, I’ve put my foot in it.”

“Yes, you have. But please, continue,” she grinned, vaguely remembering that several species of apes used the expression as a threat.

“I… I have no excuse for what I said,” Louisa apologised. “I was led to believe that you and the inspector—”

“Ahh, the Constabulary Gossip Mill has been at it again. What was it this time? I think I laughed for a month when the rumour was going around that we’d shagged in one of the cells.”

Louisa mouth dropped.

“Oh, don’t worry. I know what goes on in those cells and have no intention of doing any such thing,” said Phryne dismissively. “And besides, his desk is much more comfortable.”

Louisa barked out a stunned laugh.

“I suppose I deserved that,” she said, and Phryne decided that she liked the girl. “I was led to believe that you were both… territorial and toying with him.”

“Lesson number two then: When you are told negative things about a person, it is best to consider the source and draw your own conclusions. Such as, in this case, that I ‘really do care’ for Jack, and that you’ve stuck your foot in it.”

“Duly noted,” Louisa said. “I am—”

Phryne raised her hand.

“Enough apologies. I’m here to solve a case and so are you.”

“Right, yes, I can…”

The girl looked flustered, and Phryne realised how very young she actually was—she couldn’t be more than twenty-two, twenty-three at most.

“Louisa, I don’t bite. I generally save my scathing commentary to those who have earned it or can withstand it. You are not yet the former and I don’t know you well enough to judge the latter, so you’re safe. Do you have notes?”

“Ahh, yes,” said Louisa, reaching into a large handbag she had brought in with her. “There are some advantages to being a woman,” she said. “Smuggling these in would have been much harder without a bag.”

Phryne smiled at her, then took the folders.

“Shall we address William’s disappearance first then?”

Louisa nodded and pulled out a notebook. “I’m still not certain I understand everything that happened that week.”

“I imagine the rather incestuous nature of the group doesn’t help,” smirked Phryne. “Since William is the one who disappeared, shall we sketch out from there?”

“Alright. Irene is William’s sister. She last saw him at ten o’clock in a parlour?”

“Yes. Who else was there?”

“Well, the servants?”

“Only one and she’s passed away,” Phryne reminded her. “But thinking of people many consider invisible shows sharp instincts. Good job.”

“Susanna was in bed.”

“And her relationship with William?”

“She had called it off that day, and was quite upset about it. She implied to you that the behaviour that prompted it was unexpected, but Irene mentioned that he seemed concerned by such a possibility on the drive to the chalet days before. So one of them was lying?”

“Not necessarily. It could be that the truth is somewhere in the middle and both of them are remembering the events in ways that make the most sense to them—Susanna that she had no choice and it was a sudden decision, and Irene laying any blame for William’s behaviour at someone else’s feet.”

“Either way, she was in bed hours before he disappeared,” said Louisa.

“People can get out of bed. If William was upset, he might have even gone to confront her. She cannot be ruled out. Nor can Irene.”

“I suppose not, but the notes?”

“We’ll address that in a moment,” Phryne said. “Who else?”

“Thomas Martens had gone downstairs for whiskey? Or drugs, according to Irene’s speculation.”

“Either way, that doesn’t provide him much of an alibi.”

“What was his relationship with William like?” asked Louisa. “They both had affairs with Susanna, didn’t they?”

“Thos and Susanna was only about two years ago, so well after William’s disappearance, but it’s a good question. Susanna did mention they got into an argument over something small—a game of cards or something—but it was resolved. I believe the relationship was otherwise cordial, but not close.”

“Which leaves Albie and Rosalie, who were the last people to see William and were both in the parlour. What do they say happened?”

“Both claim he seemed fine and went to bed shortly after Irene.”

“And Irene and Albie were in a relationship at the time?” Louisa confirmed.

“Headed to the altar, by all accounts. But it didn’t withstand William’s disappearance.”

“Isn’t that odd?” she asked, clearly confused. “If they loved each other enough to marry, surely something like that would have brought them closer?”

“Life is very rarely as neat as that, I’m afraid,” said Phryne sadly, a nebulous thought prickling at the back of her mind. “Sometimes the grief and fear is more than anyone can bear, and things are never what they once were.”

“But if William and Albie were soon to be brothers, did they get along?”

“Well enough, according to everyone else. How that reconciles with William’s accusations that day I don’t know.”

“And Rosalie? She’s always sort of on the periphery, here and with these connections.”

“Nobody will say so, but I rather get the impression that Rosalie became part of the group on the strength of her brother, before he died. Not that they dislike her or anything like that, just…she never quite fit in the way the others did. She’s a few years younger than the rest of them, and never quite escaped that.”

Louisa nodded in understanding. “So there are no clear motives for any of them. The initial police investigation had no evidence of foul play. Isn’t it more likely that William left voluntarily? He didn’t take the motorcar, but they were only a couple of miles from the town and it wasn’t that cold that night—enough that he could have chosen to walk in, at least.”

“Why would he do so though?” Phryne asked; she could think of several reasons, and given the descriptions of his state of mind it was possible there was no reason, but she wanted to push Louisa. “It was dark, and cold, and he had access to a vehicle.”

“Maybe he wanted to get away from something or someone?”

Phryne nodded. “It’s certainly possible. Which brings us to part two of this investigation: the extortion. Could you get my handbag from the chair please?”

Louisa did so, and Phryne patted the space beside her in an invitation to sit.

“I have Susanna and Irene’s letters here. Perhaps seeing them as a whole will clarify matters?”

They began to lay out the letters by date of postmark; each date had two identical letters. The threatening ‘I KNOW’, followed by letters mentioning William by name and payment to hide the truth.

“Did either of them pay?” Louisa asked.

“No. Susanna contacted me instead of paying, and Irene doesn’t have the money to pay. It’s uncertain whether one of the others has gotten a similar note and paid, but if they had I’m not sure why the most recent letters are only a few days old.”

“Maybe it’s about getting as much money as possible?” Louisa suggested.

Phryne glanced up from the pages spread before her.

“I know who it is.”

———

Jack was reading a novel and keeping half an eye on Thomas Martens and trying to find an excuse to leave the group and head upstairs when Louisa came into the room, coming over to drape herself over the back of the chair and whisper in his ear.

“Miss Fisher says she’s solved the case,” she said quietly.

“And what do you think?” Jack asked, more to test her police instincts than any real interest in her assessment; he’d trust Phryne’s judgment any day.

Louisa seemed to think for a minute. “I reckon she’s right, but if she’s not the denouement might bring the truth to light regardless.”

“She’s opted for the big reveal then?” Jack asked dryly.

“She asked that you get everyone involved gathered in the small parlour, then for someone to help her downstairs.”

“At least she’s admitting she needs the help,” Jack said, setting aside his book without bothering to mark the page. “Can you go get our hostess?”

It only took a few minutes to arrange—Jack quietly explained to Susanna, who rounded up the suspects and provided them with tea while Jack slipped up the stairs.

“Miss Fisher?” he called as he knocked on the door.

“Come in!” she called. “I can hardly answer the door at the moment.”

Jack chuckled and stepped into her bedroom. She smiled at him, bright and open even though he could by the look in her eyes she was still in pain.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine, Jack. I just have an unfortunately high tolerance to pain relief—”

“Probably the number of times you’ve needed it,” he interjected, and she snorted.

“Probably. The point is, I’ll be fine. I’m just sore and bored and trying very hard to be a dutiful patient so this gets better that much sooner.”

“You have been very compliant,” Jack said. “Which is welcome, though worrying.”

She flashed him a grin. “Perhaps I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security so you indulge my every whim.”

“I’m fairly certain I already do. At least the ones that aren’t illegal, immoral, or dangerous to my sanity.”

She laughed and held out her arms.

“Help me downstairs? I’m a tad heavier than a paperweight, but…”

Jack scooped her up, being mindful of her ankle, and took the opportunity to kiss her thoroughly.

“I am so glad I’ve solved this case,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his ear fondly. “I was getting quite sick of not getting to kiss you whenever I like.”

“On that note, will you tell me or do I have to wait for the denouement like everyone else?”

She wrinkled her nose playfully. “I’ll make you wait, but I hope you brought more than one pair of handcuffs.”

“When I go on holiday with you, Miss Fisher, I generally bring enough pairs for every guest. It’s safer that way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she purred, running her hand over his tie.

Shaking his head, he headed down the stairs. He paused before the wooden doors to the parlour, lowering Phryne to the ground and offering his arm so she could walk in under her own volition.

“I adore you,” she whispered, smiling as she took it. “Let’s go solve a case.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end of another case. One that is FLUFFY, and even Quiltingmom will have to concede the fact. ;-D

Escorted by Jack, Phryne entered the parlour and looked around. All the suspects had been assembled, and someone—Louisa, possibly, since she was the one who gestured to it—had set up an armchair and ottoman for Phryne to rest her leg on. She lowered herself into it and Jack slipped away, taking up residence against the mantelpiece, hand in his pocket. The others were talking amongst themselves, until Phryne coughed.

“Thank you, Susanna, for assembling everyone,” she said loudly, and the attention of everyone in the room turned to her. “I’m afraid I have quite a lot of news about the disappearance of William Armitage. Please, everyone, take your seats.”

She felt rather than heard the murmur of surprise that rippled through the crowd, but they dutifully moved into position.

“As you are all aware, I am a friend of Susanna’s. I am also a private detective,” Phryne said theatrically; if she was going to do this, she might as well enjoy it. From the mantelpiece Jack raised an eyebrow at the showmanship. “It is in the second capacity that I have gathered you here. With a show of hands, how many of you have received threatening letters about that fateful trip?”

Everyone bar Jack and Louisa raised their hands reluctantly.

“All of us?” asked Susanna.

“Mmhmm.”

“But then…?”

Phryne saw the spark of hope in Susanna’s eyes and recognised it; she’d felt the same way, before they found Janey. That there could be some convoluted series of events that explained her sister’s absence, that she could return home and all would be well. She wished Susanna could have what Phryne had not, but she shook her head softly.

“Not William, darling.”

“Then who?”

“That was the question, really. It had to be someone who did not know what happened that night, but who wanted to badly enough that they would risk blackmailing others. Someone who could not afford to pay the blackmailer, but did not hesitate to hire a private investigator.” Phryne spared a glance at Irene, who had donned a mulish expression. “What was it you said? You’d do anything to uncover the truth?”

Irene raised her chin slightly. “I would.”

“But nobody bit, did they? Not they way you wanted them to. You’d hoped a guilty conscience would be enough,” Phryne said. “But the truth was not kept secret out of guilt. Not in the beginning.”

She saw Rosalie shift, obviously uncomfortable. Albie looked as if he was about to cry. Thos looked confused, and Susanna had begun to pace the room.

“I’m fairly certain I know who was there when it happened, but I’m less certain who was there in the aftermath. Who would like to tell me?”

After a long moment, Albie sighed and looked to Irene.

“We never wanted it to go this long,” he said quietly. “You have to believe me.”

She grit her teeth. “Albert Quinton, what did you do?”

“That night…” he paused. “When you went to bed that night, you came over to kiss me first.”

“I always came over to kiss you.”

His answering smile was so sad that Phryne almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Yes, well, this time, William saw it.”

“So?”

“He’d been into the cocaine—I am sorry, Susanna—and he was furious.”

“Why?” asked Irene.

Susanna stopped pacing, coming to sit on the chaise next to Irene and taking her hand. “I had called it off earlier that night, sweetie. He was having another one of his… incidents, and he was accusing Albie and me of scheming against you two. He believed that I was tricking him into marriage so that I could gain access to his money—never mind that I had quite enough money of my own—and that Albie was distracting you so you wouldn’t see the truth.”

Irene opened her mouth, but could not find the words.

“It was utter nonsense, of course, but he was… he was so convinced. I couldn’t reason with him. So I told him it was over and I went to bed and I never saw him again, and I regret that every day.”

“What happened?”

Susanna shook her head and looked to Albie again. “I don’t know,” she said. “Albie?”

“Thos had gone downstairs. Rosalie and I were talking and he came over and just… lost it. Started shouting and flailing his arms about how I was going to destroy you. I tried to calm him down. I did. And he just got more and more erratic and I tried to restrain him and… he elbowed me in the stomach and ran. Slippers, no coat, straight into the night.”

“It was the middle of winter!” shouted Irene, hands clasping over her mouth as if she was surprised by the words.

“I know, Reenie. Rosalie and I went after him, but we couldn’t see any tracks. We were out until the sun came up. It… it was hours, but it seemed like minutes really. If we just called one more time, checked by one more tree—if we’d realised, we would have come back and organised a search properly. But it was daylight and we knew that his absence would be discovered soon. So we—” Albie began to cry. “We agreed that we would… we would try to spare you the grief. We thought, even then, that the police would find him soon enough, or that he’d hiked into town, or… we never imagined that he wouldn’t show up alive and well, and that once the drugs had worn off we could talk sense into him, make him see that he was wrong. But he never did, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you that it was… I had to spare you that grief, at least.”

Irene had begun to cry as he spoke, and when he was done she stood up, expression furious.

“You let me suffer for years!” she screamed, mouth grimacing. “Always hoping, always waiting. And all because the man I loved couldn’t admit—”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“That’s not _love_ , Albie. That’s selfishness. You’re an utter bastard and I hate you! I hope you rot in hell! We could have found him! We could have…” Irene suddenly collapsed back into the chaise, and Phryne moved forward to hold her. Irene looked to Phryne, utterly lost. “He’s still out there. Should we…?”

Phryne knew the chances of recovering his body were next to nothing—everything was against them: the years since his disappearance, the sheer amount of land he could have reached before being overcome, the weather. It was not unusual for men in the final stages of hypothermia to hide in small spaces, and it was so easy to overlook these spaces. And that was ignoring whether there was water nearby or possible animal activity. Phryne hugged her close.

“We can try. But the initial searches were very thorough.”

“How do you know?” Irene asked.

Jack was the one who answered, his voice low and calm and comforting.

“When Miss Fisher was asked to investigate the extortion, she contacted the New South Wales police to gain access to the reports of William’s disappearance.”

“How do you know they gave you everything?” Irene argued. “They might have wanted to cover up negligence—”

“Irene, I know this is difficult. But Inspector Robinson and I both believe—”

“Inspector who?”

Phryne gently nodded towards Jack. “Inspector Jack Robinson is with the Melbourne police, which left the attempted extortion of Susanna Parr under his remit.”

Still grief-stricken, Irene looked confused. “I thought Mr. Richards was in shipping. Louisa said—”

Louisa had so far remained silent, watching the revelations without interference. She stepped forward then, kneeling down in front of Irene and touching her knee. She’d be a good cop, Phryne decided; careful, caring, but not allowing that care to keep her from doing her job.

“Irene, my name is Louisa Strathearn. I’m a constable who works with Inspector Robinson.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid so. We needed to investigate and this was… we were working towards the same goal, Irene. And I am sorry that I deceived you to do so, but it was with good intentions.”

Irene nodded numbly. “I can’t…” she lowered her head into her hands. “What happens now?”

Phryne looked to Jack—this was beyond her control. There would be charges, Irene for the extortion and Albie and Rosalie for their false statements to the police during the initial investigation, but whether they would make it to court or be dismissed along the way… she wasn’t entirely certain what to wish for. None of this was justice. He gave her a sad, small smile that told her he was as uncertain as she was. There was no better man to be in charge, though, and she hoped her expression told him how very grateful she was that he was there.

———

It took Jack two days to untangle the case—charges spanning two jurisdictions were always time-consuming—and get back to Melbourne. Susanna had driven Phryne home shortly after the revelation—with her ankle she was in no shape to drive herself—and he’d spoken to her on the telephone, but it was eleven o’clock at night, he was exhausted, and he was not expected at Wardlow. He still found himself parking in front of the house and walking up the path before he could convince himself it was a bad idea; the door was opened before he even knocked, Mr. Butler smiling calmly.

“It is very good to see you again, sir.”

“Likewise, Mr. Butler,” Jack said, handing over his coat and hat. “Is she—”

“In the parlour, waiting for you.”

“And her ankle?”

Mr. Butler raised his eyebrows in a look of silent exasperation, and Jack shook his head in amusement.

“About as well as expected then.”

The butler’s lips quirked ever-so-slightly. “I believe Doctor MacMillan was threatening to tie her to the chair and use her cravat as a gag so she could drink in peace.”

Jack did so appreciate the man’s sense of humour.

“Is Mac still here then?”

“No, she and Doctor Franklin returned home an hour ago. Miss Fisher is alone, save some sandwiches.”

“Presuming, of course, that she hasn’t eaten them all,” laughed Jack.

Mr. Butler hesitated, then smiled. “I am quite certain that she’s left some for you, even if she wasn’t sure whether you’d come,” he said; it was a small overstep of his position, but Jack understood. “And if she has not, I’ll arrange some more.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. B,” said a quiet voice; she’d come to the parlour door and was leaning against it, favouring her injured ankle. “Good evening, Jack.”

Jack couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the sight of her; she was wrapped in her favourite robe, face bare, slightly sleepy and utterly Phryne. “Miss Fisher. Still limping, I see?”

“Unfortunately. Police work sorted?”

“For the day, at least. I suspect there will be more paperwork tomorrow. Rosalie confessed to breaking into your bedroom and cutting the strap of your snowshoes, by the way—she felt, and rightly so, that the presence of a private detective was very suspicious and was hoping to scare you off.”

Phryne rolled her eyes, then smiled at him.

“And John Richards?”

“Retired.”

“Good. He was a perfectly amiable chap, but I rather missed Jack Robinson.”

“So did I, I must admit,” Jack said, stepping forward to draw her into his embrace and kiss her softly. “Richards doesn’t get to do things like this.”

And then he hoisted her into his arms to carry her back to the chaise, groaning theatrically; she squealed with laughter and held on tight. Neither of them noticed when Mr. Butler shut the parlour doors with a smile, content that Wardow was as it should be once more.

There was a fire in the fireplace and a blanket on the chaise with a book lying on top. She had been waiting for him. He deposited her down gently, then took a seat beside her.

“So Jack,” she purred, when she was sprawled against the cushions on the chaise with her feet in his lap. “Was the commissioner suitably impressed by your dedication to the job?”

“I must admit, Miss Fisher, that I have not asked. I’ve only just got back to Melbourne.”

“And came straight here?” she asked, and he wasn’t certain if she was surprised or amused.

“Well,” he replied, lips quirking in a smile. His fingers traced against the back of her knee. “I knew there would be food here.”

She tossed her head back and laughed again, the shadows cast by the fire highlighting her features.

“There is always food here. And whiskey. And company.”

“Mm,” Jack agreed. “The company is second to none. Mr. Butler, for example…”

“Will you shut up, you ass?” she teased. “I’m trying to tell you that I missed having you here. You do know I consider this as much your home as your bungalow?”

And while he did, hearing her say the words were exactly what he needed after a long few days.

“I think you’ll find, love, that my home is wherever you are.”


End file.
